

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






>N 














THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 





THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 


BY 

SAMUEL TAYLOR 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

J. NOEL PATON R.S.A. 

f ' 

WITH AN INTRODUCTORY NOTE BY 

FRANCIS H. UNDERWOOD LL.D. 



COLERIDGE 


LEE 


BOSTON 
AND SHEPARD 


> 

•> 

» » 
» > 
o » » 

> 


PUBLISHERS 


i o Milk Street 



1893 


TKft'i! 



Copyright, 1893, by Lee and Shepard 


The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 



press or 

JtacktotU anD Cbnrrfcill 


BOSTON USA 


THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 


INTRODUCTORY NOTE 



HIS poem is u-nique, not only in English, but in the modern literature of the world. It is 


1 one of the masterpieces of poetry, as it is the most powerful and imaginative of modern 
ballads. Every reader remembers the strange and overpowering sensations which came over him 
when in his youth he first ran through the story ; the series of delightful or startling surprises as 
he encountered the bold images, the phosphoric epithets, and the unexpected strokes that mark 
the successive stanzas. The mature reader who looks over the poem anew finds that certain lines 
have become a part of his inner life, and are wont to come up, uncalled, like biblical aphorisms 
or Shakespearean gems. The men of seventy years, as they look back over their long past, stored 
with memories of striking thoughts and picturesque high-lights of expression, agree that, upon the 
whole, no poem dealing with the supernatural — clothed in natural forms — has so well stood the 
test of time, and presents so many instances of fresh and imperishable beauty and grandeur. Time 
may tarnish marble and bronze, may crumble Gothic carving and Grecian ornament, but it has 
no power over an ideal creation like the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. 

In many great poems the strokes of genius are few, and there are necessary intervening 


5 


levels which are comparatively devoid of interest ; but in this the reader feels that Coleridge’s 

imagination never once drooped, for every line bears witness to the keenness of his spiritual sight, 

and in a half-dozen simple words there is often a tremendous force which the rhetorician or the 
rhymer may wonder at, but never' attain. 

It is impossible to make adequate citations from lines which are vitally connected like 
members of the body — lines whose beauty and force are in their environment as well as in 
themselves — lines whose energy accumulates and rolls on like a long incoming wave. It is as a 
whole that the poem must be considered. It is one entire conception — an edifice, a realm, a land 
of splendor and terror and mystery, with its own airs, sights and sounds, and atmospheric laws, 
and yet not beyond the rule of the Eternal. 

It may be well to try to show how this poem exemplifies the working of the imagination. 
This faculty is associated in some minds only with dazzling conceptions, and surprises which come 
like thunderbolts ; but that is a limited view : imagination may have free play even in tranquil 
scenes or in movements not in themselves startling. This faculty takes its place on the spot where 

the scene or action is represented, and by its vivid and creative force makes the reader see what 

is going on, as if it were under his eyes. How different is such a moving and life-like tableau 
from an ordinary colorless narration ! 

Let the reader rouse himself and endeavor to form a mental picture of the opening scene, 
when the Ancient Mariner interrupts the wedding procession. The bride paces into the hall, and 
the merry minstrelsy, with nodding heads, goes before her. Nodding their heads ! The scene is 
instantly grasped, and the shapely youths, in festive array, are moving to the music. How 
annoying to be singled out and arrested at such a time by an unknown mariner with long beard 


6 


and glittering eye! Yet such is the luck of the Wedding Guest; and no wonder he beats his 
breast as he hears the loud bassoon. 

Or if we turn to the account of the departure of the ship, see how the convexity of ocean 
is felt in the simple lines : 

“ Merrily did we drop 
Below the kirk, below the hill, 

Below the light-house top.” 


The shooting of the albatross is duly emphasized, but it is only in the light of subsequent 
events that its fateful significance is seen. 

As the mysterious voyage proceeds, the poet’s eye takes in and pictures every movement, 
shape, and color. There are few unusual words, but how strange and thrilling their effect ! Who 
can forget his sensations when he came upon the lines : 

“We were the first that ever burst 
Into that silent sea.” 


or upon these: 


“ All in a hot and copper sky 
The bloody sun, at noon, 

Right up above the mast did stand, 
No bigger than the moon ! ” 


or upon this : 


“ At one stride comes the dark 1 ” 


7 


I 


But all the stanzas have become familiar as household words, and are not only set in the 
books, but are photographed into the memories of men. 

As another instance of imaginative power, notice, when the spectre-ship drives before 

the face of the setting sun, how its ribs are seen to fleck the great orb as with bars, 

through which he peers with burning face. No poet, not even Milton, has conceived a grander 

image. 

The changes of scene, as the story moves on, are effected with incomparable art, and, as it 
were, by successively interposed dissolving views. All wonders of sky and sea, and of the 
spirit-world, are at the poet’s command ; and the long panorama becomes almost oppressive in its 

sublimity. The hornbd moon holds one bright star beneath her nether tip, and as she goes up 
into the sky, she looks down placidly upon the horrors of the burning ship, and the play of the 
water-snakes, whose elfish light falls off in hoary flakes. 

When the albatross fell off the mariner's neck a new scene was unfolded. The dead men 
rose and worked the ship, and the sails murmured softly, though never a breeze was blowing. 

In this description there is a tingling sense of immensity and endlessness. The poetry is not 

alone in what is said, but also in what is suggested. 

Another instance of shivering suggestiveness is in the off-quoted passage beginning : 

“ Like one that on a lonesome road 
Doth walk with fear and dread.” 

When the land comes in sight, how intense is the feeling of deliverance and joy ! The 

breath of the land-breeze is a caress upon the wan cheeks. The glassy harbor, the well-known 


8 


rock, the weather-cock of the kirk steeped in moonlight, the white light of the bay with its 

coming shadows of crimson, — all these familiar sights make the mind swim in ecstasy. 

Turn then to the Hermit, and look with his eyes upon the weird vessel as it comes into 
port, with its warped planks hanging like brown skeletons of leaves ! See the strange craft 

sink like lead, while the Mariner escapes in the pilot’s boat ! And then mark how 

“ Upon the whirl where sank the ship 
The boat spun round and round ; 

And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound.” 

What an echo ! The soul of the reader feels its rebounding blow. 

When the phantasmal procession has passed into vacancy, and the agencies of the other 

world have disappeared, the soul comes back to its equilibrium, and then the chief moral lesson 

of the poem begins to glow like a castle seen through a mist of rainbows. Though quoted again 
and again, the lines may be quoted once more : 

“ Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 
To thee, thou Wedding Guest! 

■ He prayeth well who loveth well 
Both man, and bird, and beast. 

“ He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things both great and small ; 

For the dear God who loveth us, 

He made and loveth all.” 


9 


It would not do to assert that Coleridge set in motion all the stupendous forces of nature, 
and enlisted the powers of the unseen, solely to inculcate a moral precept. The precept, it is true, 
is set in a heavenly light, and will shine for future generations; but the poem, like beauty, is its 
own excuse for being. It was inspired by his grand and restless genius, and he could not do 
otherwise than attempt to seize and eternize the splendid, awful, and un-worldly visions by which 
his mind was haunted. That it touches the grotesque at times is no derogation from its merit. 
Milton and Michelangelo are witnesses that grandeur, sublimity, and dread may sometimes be 
associated with what is monstrous and grotesque. The full apprehension of this poem, as well as 
of the Paradise Lost, and of the frescoes of the Last Judgment, will come only to receptive 
minds. 

The story readily lends itself to illustration, and the designs of Sir Noel Paton, so free, so 
large and masterly, furnish a certain effective interpretation. They cannot equal in vividness the 
poet’s transcendent images, but they will enable most readers to follow the Mariner upon his long 
and marvellous voyage. 

FRANCIS H. UNDERWOOD 


10 





'll 3 


An ancient 
Mariner 
meeteth three 
Gallants 
bidden to a 
wedding-feast, 
and detaineth 
one. 


PART THE FIRST 


IT is an ancient Mariner, 

And he stoppeth one of three. 

“ By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, 
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me ? 

“ The Bridegroom’s doors are opened wide, 
And I am next of kin ; 

The guests are met, the feast is set : 

May’st hear the merry din.” 


He holds him with his skinny hand, 

“ There was a ship,” quoth he. 

“Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!” 
Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 

He holds him with his glittering eye — 

The Wedding-Guest stood still, 

And listens like a three years’ child : 

The Mariner hath his will. 


The Wedding- 
Guest is 
spell-bound by 
the eye of the 
old seafaring 
man, and 
constrained to 
hear his tale. 


12 



“ It is an ancient 
And he stoppeth 


Mariner , 
one of three .' 1 






The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone : 
He cannot chuse but hear ; 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed Mariner. 


The Mariner 
tells how the 
ship sailed 
southward 
with a good 
wind and fair 
weather, till it 
reached the 
line. 


The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, 

Merrily did we drop 

Below the kirk, below the hill, 

Below the light-house top. 


The Sun came up upon the left, 

Out of the sea came he ! 

And he shone bright, and on the right 
Went down into the sea. 


Higher and higher every day, 

Till over the mast at noon — 

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast. 
For he heard the loud bassoon. 


14 



“ The W edding- Guest sat on a stone: 
He cannot chuse but heard ’ 






The Wedding- 
Guest heareth 
the bridal 
music; but 
the Mariner 
continueth his 
tale. 


The ship 
drawn by a 
storm toward 
the south pole. 


The bride hath paced into the hall, 
Red as a rose is she ; 

Nodding their heads before her goes 
The merry minstrelsy. 


The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, 
Yet he cannot chuse but hear ; 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed Mariner. 


And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he 
Was tyrannous and strong : 

He struck with his o’ertaking wings, 

And chased us south along. 


With sloping masts and dipping prow, 

As who pursued with yell and blow 
Still treads the shadow of his foe, 

And forward bends his head, 

The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, 
And southward aye we fled. 


And now there came both mist and snow 
And it grew wondrous cold : 

And ice, mast-high, came floating by, 

As green as emerald. 



“ The bride had paced into the hall, 
Red as a rose is she.” 




The land of 
ice, and of 
fearful sounds, 
where no 
living thing 
was to be seen. 


And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
Did send a dismal sheen : 

Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — 
The ice was all between. 


The ice was here, the ice was there, 

The ice was all around : 

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, 
Like noises in a swound ! 


At length did cross an Albatross, 
Thorough the fog it came 
As if it had been a Christian soul, 
We hailed it in God’s name. 


Till a great 
sea-bird, called 
the Albatross, 
came through 
the snow- fog, 
and was 
received with 
great joy and 
hospitality. 


It ate the food it ne’er had eat, 

And round and round it flew. 

The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; 
The helmsman steered us through 1 


18 





"At length did cross an Albatross 
Thorough the fog it came.” 


And lo! the 
Albatross 
proveth a 
bird of good 
omen and 
followeth the 
ship as it 
returned north- 
ward through 
fog and 
floating ice. 


And a good south wind sprung up behind ; 
The Albatross did follow, 

And every day, for food or play, 

Came to the mariners’ hollo ! 


In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 

It perched for vespers nine ; 

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, 
Glimmered the white Moon-shine. 


“God save thee, ancient Mariner! 

From the fiends, that plague thee thus ! — 
Why look’st thou so?” — With my cross-bow 
l shot the Albatross. 


The ancient 
Mariner 
inhospitably 
killeth the 
pious bird of 
good omen. 


20 



“And a good south wind sprung up behind; 
The Albatross did follow.” 




PART THE 


'T'HE sun now rose upon the right: 

Out of the sea came he, 

Still hid in mist, and on the left 
Went down into the sea. 


And the good south wind still blew behind. 
But no sweet bird did follow, 

Nor any day for food or play 
Came to the mariners’ hollo! 


His shipmates 
cry out against 
the ancient 
Mariner, for 
killing the bird 
of good luck. 


And 1 had done a hellish thing, 

And it would work ’em woe : 

For all averred, 1 had killed the bird 
That made the breeze to blow. 


22 


SECOND 


Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, 
That made the breeze to blow ! 


Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head, 
The glorious Sun uprist : 

Then all averred, I had killed the bird 
That brought the fog and mist. 

’Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, 
That bring the fog and mist. 


But when the 
fog cleared off, 
they justify 
the same, and 
thus make 
themselves 
accomplices in 
the crime. 


The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 
The furrow followed free ; 

We were the first that ever burst 
Into that silent sea. 


The fair breeze 
continues; the 
ship enters the 
Pacific Ocean, 
and sails 
northward, 
even till it 
reaches the 
line. 



“ Then all averred , / had killed the bird 
That b) ought the fog and mist.” 


/ 












The ship hath 
been suddenly 
becalmed. 


And the 
Albatross 
begins to be 
avenged. 


Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 
’Twas sad as sad could be; 

And we did speak only to break 
The silence of the sea ! 

All in a hot and copper sky, 

The bloody Sun, at noon, 

Right up above the mast did stand, 

No bigger than the Moon. 

Day after day, day after day, 

We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; 

As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 

Water, water, every where, 

And all the boards did shrink; 

Water, water, every where, 

Nor any drop to drink. 


The very deep did rot : O Christ ! 
That ever this should be ! 


Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 
Upon the slimy sea. 

About, about, in real and rout 
The death-fires danced at night ; 

The water, like a witch’s oils, 

Burnt green, and blue, and white. 

And some in dreams assured were 
Of the spirit that plagued us so ; 

Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
From the land of mist and snow. 

And every tongue, through utter drought, 
Was withered at the root ; 

We could not speak, no more than if 
We had been choked with soot. 

Ah ! well-a-day ! what evil looks 
Had 1 from old and young ! 

Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
About my neck was hung. 


A Spirit had 
followed them; 
one of the invis- 
ible inhabitants 
of this planet, 
neither 

departed souls 
nor angels; 
concerning 
whom the 
learned Jew, 
Josephus, and 
the Platonic 
Constantino- 
politan, 

Michael 
Psellus, may 
be consulted. 
They are very 
numerous, and 
there is no 
climate or 
element 
without one 
or more. 


The shipmates, 
in their sore 
distress, would 
fain throw the 
whole guilt on 
the ancient 
Mariner; in 
sign whereof 
they hang the 
dead sea-bird 
round his neck. 



“ Ah ! well- a- day ! what evil looks 
Had I from old and young!” 








PART THE THIRD 


The ancient 
Mariner 
beholdeth a 
sign in the 
element afar 
off. 


At its nearer 
approach, it 
seemeth him to 
be a ship; and 
at a dear 
ransom he 


'T'HERE passed a weary time. Each throat 
* Was parched, and glazed each eye. 

A weary time ! A weary time ! 

How glazed each weary eye, 

When looking westward, 1 beheld 
A something in the sky. 

At first it seemed a little speck, 

And then it seemed a mist ; 

It moved and moved, and took at last 
A certain shape, I wist. 

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! 

And still it neared and neared : 

As if it dodged a water-sprite, 

It plunged and tacked and veered. 

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, 
We could not laugh nor wail ; 

Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! 


1 bit my arm, 1 sucked the blood, 

And cried, A sail ! a sail ! 

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, 
Agape they heard me call : 

Gramercy ! they for joy did grin, 

And all at once their breath drew in, 

As they were drinking all. 

See! see! (1 cried) she tacks no more 
Hither to work us weal ; 

Without a breeze, without a tide, 

She steadies with upright keel ! 

The western wave was all a-flame. 

The day was well nigh done ! 

Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad bright Sun ; 

When that strange shape drove suddenly 
Betwixt us and the Sun. 


freeth his 
speech from 
the bonds of 
thirst. 


A flash of joy; 


And horror 
follows. For 
can it be a 
ship that 
comes onward 
without wind 
or tide? 


26 



a 




“ IVith throats unslaked , with black lips baked , 
IV e could not laugh nor wail.” 








It seemeth 
him but the 
skeleton of a 
ship. 


And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, 
(Heaven’s Mother send us grace !) 

As if through a dungeon-grate he peered 
With broad and burning face. 


Alas ! (thought 1, and my heart beat loud) 
How fast she nears and nears ! 

Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
Like restless gossameres ? 


And its ribs 
are seen as 
bars on 
the face of 
the setting 
Sun. The 
Spectre-woman 


Are those her ribs through which the Sun 
Did peer, as through a grate ? 

And is that Woman all her crew ? 


Is that a Death ? and are there two ? 
Is Death that Woman’s mate ? 


Her lips were red, her looks were free, 
Her locks were yellow as gold : 

Her skin was as white as leprosy, 

The Night-mare Life-in-Death was she, 
Who thicks man’s blood with cold. 


The naked hulk alongside came, 

And the twain were casting dice ; 

“The game is done! I’ve won, I’ve won!’’ 
Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 


and her 
death-mate, 
and no other, 
on board the 
skeleton-ship. 


Like vessel, 
like crew ! 


Death, and 
Life-in-Death 
have diced for 
the ship’s 
crew, and she 
(the latter) 
winneth the 
ancient 
Mariner. 



“ The naked hulk alongside came , 
And the twain were casting dice. y) 









No twilight 
within the 
courts of the 
Sun. 


At the rising 
of the Moon. 


The sun’s rim dips ; the stars rush out : 
At one stride comes the Dark ; 

With far-heard whisper o’er the sea, 

Off shot the spectre-bark. 


We listened and looked sideways up ! 

Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 

My life-blood seemed to sip ! 

The stars were dim, and thick the night, 

The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white 
From the sails the dew did drip — 

Till clomb above the eastern bar 
The hornbd Moon, with one bright star 
Within the nether tip. 


One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, 
Too quick for groan or sigh, 

Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, 
And cursed me with his eye. 


Four times fifty living men 
(And 1 heard nor sigh nor groan), 
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 
They dropped down one by one. 


The souls did from their bodies fly, — 
They fled to bliss or woe ! 

And every soul it passed me by, 

Like the whizz of my cross-bow ! 


One after 
another, 


His shipmates 
drop down 
dead; 


But Life-in- 
Death begins 
her work on 
the ancient 
Mariner. 



“ The souls did from their bodies fly , 
They fled to bliss or woe!” 


PART THE FOURTH 


The Wedding- 
Guest feareth 
that a spirit is 
talking to him; 


But the ancient 
Mariner 
assureth him 
of his bodily 
life, and 
proceedeth to 
relate his 
horrible 
penance. 


“ I FEAR thee, ancient Mariner ! 

* I fear thy skinny hand ! 

And thou art long, and lank, and brown, 
As is the ribbed sea-sand.' 

1 fear thee and thy glittering eye, 

And thy skinny hand, so brown.” — 

Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
This body dropt not down. 

Alone, alone, all, all alone, 

Alone on a wide, wide sea ! 

And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agony. 


The many men, so beautiful ! 

And they all dead did lie : 

And a thousand thousand slimy things 
Lived on ; and so did 1. 

1 looked upon the rotting sea, 

And drew my eyes away ; 

1 looked upon the rotting deck, 

And there the dead men lay. 

I looked to heaven, and tried to pray ; 
But or ever a prayer had gusht, 

A wicked whisper came, and made 
My heart as dry as dust. 


1 For the two last lines of this stanza. I am indebted to Mr. Wordsworth. It was on a delightful walk from Nether Stowey to 
Dulverton. with him and his sister, in the autumn of 1797. that this poem was planned, and in part composed. 


He despiseth 
the creatures 
of the calm. 


And envieth 
that they 
should live, 
and so many 
lie dead. 


32 


But the curse 
liveth for him 
in the eye of 
the dead men. 


In his 

loneliness and 
fixedness he 
yearneth 
towards the 
journeying 
Moon, and the 
stars that still 
sojourn, yet 
still move 
onward; and 


I closed my lids, and kept them close, 

And the balls like pulses beat ; 

For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky 
Lay like a load on my weary eye, 

And the dead were at my feet. 

The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 

Nor rot nor reek did they : 

The look with which they looked on me 
Had never passed away. 


An orphan’s curse would drag to hell 
A spirit from on high ; 

But oh ! more horrible than that 
Is a curse in a dead man’s eye ! 

Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, 
And yet I could not die. 


The moving Moon went up the sky, 
And no where did abide : 

Softly she was going up, 

And a star or two beside — 


Her beams bemocked the sultry main, 
Like April hoar-frost spread ; 

But where the ship’s huge shadow lay, 
The charmbd water burnt alway 
A still and awful red. 


everywhere 
the blue sky 
belongs to 
them, and is 
their appointed 
rest, and their 
native country 
and their 
own natural 
homes, which 
they enter 
unannounced, 
as lords that 
are certainly 
expected, and 
yet there is a 
silent joy at 
their arrival. 


Beyond the shadow of the ship, 

1 watched the water-snakes : 

They moved in tracks of shining white, 
And when they reared, the elfish light 
Fell off in hoary flakes. 


By the light of 
the Moon he 
beholdeth 
God’s creatures 
of the great 
calm. 


Their beauty 
and their 
happiness. 


He blesseth 
them in his 
heart. 


Within the shadow of the ship 
1 watched their rich attire : 

Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
They coiled and swam ; and every track 
Was a flash of golden fire. 


O happy living things ! no tongue 
Their beauty might declare : 

A spring of love gushed from my heart. 
And 1 blessed them unaware : 

Sure my kind saint took pity on me, 
And 1 blessed them unaware. 


The self same moment 1 could pray ; 
And from my neck so free 
The Albatross fell off, and sank 
Like lead into the sea. 


The spell 
begins to 
break. 


34 



“ The Albatross fell off , and sank 
Like lead into the sea 




By grace of 
the holy 
Mother, the 
ancient Mariner 
is refreshed 
with rain. 


PART THE FIFTH 


/~\H sleep! it is a gentle thing, 

Beloved from pole to pole ! 

To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 

She sent the gentle sleep from heaven, 
That slid into my soul. 

The silly buckets on the deck, 

That had so long remained, 

1 dreamt that they were filled with dew ; 
And when I awoke it rained. 

My lips were wet, my throat was cold, 
My garments all were dank ; 

Sure I had drunken in my dreams, 

And still my body drank. 


I moved, and could not feel my limbs : 
1 was so light — almost 
I thought that 1 had died in sleep, 

And was a blessbd ghost. 

And soon I heard a roaring wind : 

It did not come anear ; 

But with its sound it shook the sails, 
That were so thin and sere. 

The upper air burst into life ! 

And a hundred fire-flags sheen, 

To and fro they were hurried about! 
And to and fro, and in and out, 

The wan stars danced between. 


He heareth 
sounds and 
seeth strange 
sights and 
commotions in 
the sky and 
the element. 


36 



“Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, 
Beloved from pole to pole ! ' ' 














The bodies of 
the ship’s crew 
are inspired, 
and the ship 
moves on ; 


And the coming wind did roar more loud, 

And the sails did sigh like sedge ; 

And the rain poured down from one black cloud ; 
The Moon was at its edge. 


The thick black cloud was cleft, and still 
The Moon was at its side : 

Like waters shot from some high crag, 
The lightning fell with never a jag, 

A river steep and wide. 


The loud wind never reached the ship, 
Yet now the ship moved on ! 

Beneath the lightning and the Moon 
The dead men gave a groan. 


They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose. 
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 

It had been strange, even in a dream, 

To have seen those dead men rise. 


The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; 
Y et never a breeze up blew ; 

The mariners all ’gan work the ropes, 
Where they were wont to do : 

They raised their limbs like lifeless tools — 
We were a ghastly crew. 


The body of my brother’s son 
Stood by me, knee to knee : 

The body and 1 pulled at one rope, 
But he said nought to me. 


But not by the 
souls of the 
men, nor by 
demons of 
earth or middle 
air, but by a 
blessed troop 
of angelic 
spirits, sent 
down by the 
invocation of 
the guardian 
saint. 


“I fear thee, ancient Mariner!” 

Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest, 

’Twas not those souls that fled in pain, 
Which to their corses came again, 

But a troop of spirits blest : 


For when it dawned — they dropped their arms, 
And clustered round the mast ; 

Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, 
And from their bodies passed. 


Around, around, flew each sweet sound, 
Then darted to the Sun ; 

Slowly the sounds came back again, 
Now mixed, now one by one. 


Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
I heard the sky-lark sing ; 
Sometimes all little birds that are, 


How they seemed to fill the sea and air 
With their sweet jargoning ! 


And now ’twas like all instruments, 
Now like a lonely flute ; 

And now it is an angel’s song, 
That makes the heavens be mute. 


It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 
A pleasant noise till noon, 

A noise like of a hidden brook 
In the leafy month of June, 

That to the sleeping woods all night 
Singeth a quiet tune. 


Till noon we quietly sailbd on, 

Yet never a breeze did breathe: 
Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 
Moved onward from beneath. 


39 


The lonesome 
spirit from the 
south-pole 
carries on the 
ship as far as 
the Line, in 
obedience to 
the angelic 
troop, but still 
requireth 
vengeance. 


Under the keel nine fathom deep, 
From the land of mist and snow, 

The spirit slid : and it was he 
That made the ship to go. 

The sails at noon left off their tune, 
And the ship stood still also. 


The Sun, right up above the mast, 

Had fixed her to the ocean : 

But in a minute she ’gan stir, 

With a short uneasy motion — 
Backwards and forwards half her length, 
With a short uneasy motion. 

Then like a pawing horse let go, 

She made a sudden bound : 

It flung the blood into my head, 

And I fell down in a swound. 


How long in that sairie fit I lay, 

1 have not to declare ; 

But ere my living life returned, 

I heard, and in my soul discerned 
Two voices in the air. 


“Is it he?” quoth one, “Is this the man? 
By him who died on cross, 

With his cruel bow he laid full low 
The harmless Albatross. 


The Polar 
Spirit’s fellow 
demons, the 
invisible 
inhabitants of 
the element, 
take part in 
his wrong; 
and two of 
them relate, 
one to the 
other, that 
penance long 
and heavy for 
the ancient 
Mariner hath 
been accorded 
to the Polar 
Spirit who 
returneth 
southward. 


The spirit who bideth by himself 
In the land of mist and snow, 

He loved the bird that loved the man 
Who shot him with his bow.” 


40 



“ The spirit who hideth by himself 
In the land of mist and snow .* 1 







The other was a softer voice, 

As soft as honey-dew : 

Quoth he, “The man hath penance done, 
And penance more will do.” 

PART THE SIXTH 


FIRST VOICE 

DUT tell me, tell me! speak again, 
Thy soft response renewing — 

What makes that ship drive on so fast ? 
What is the ocean doing ? 

SECOND VOICE 

Still as a slave before his lord, 

The ocean hath no blast ; 

His great bright eye most silently 
Up to the Moon is cast — 

If he may know which way to go ; 

For she guides him smooth or grim. 

See, brother, see ! how graciously 
She looketh down on him. 


FIRST VOICE 

But why drives on that ship so fast, 

Without or wave or wind ? 

SECOND VOICE 

The air is cut away before, 

And closes from behind. 

Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high ! 

Or we shall be belated : 

For slow and slow that ship will go, 

When the Mariner’s trance is abated. 

1 woke, and we were sailing on 
As in a gentle weather : 

’Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high ; 
The dead men stood together. 




The Mariner 
hath been cast 
into a trance; 
for the angelic 
power causeth 
the vessel 
to drive 
northward 
faster than 
human life 
could endure. 


The super- 
natural motion 
is retarded ; the 
Mariner 
awakes, and 
his penance 
begins anew. 


42 




The curse 
is finally 
expiated ; 


All stood together on the deck, 
For a charnel-dungeon fitter : 

All fixed on me their stony eyes, 
That in the Moon did glitter. 


The pang, the curse, with which they died, 
Had never passed away : 

I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 

Nor turn them up to pray. 


And now this spell was snapt ; once more 
1 viewed the ocean green, 

And looked far forth, yet little saw 
Of what had else been seen — 


Like one that on a lonesome road 
Doth walk in fear and dread, 

And having once turned round walks on, 


And turns no more his head ; 
Because he knows, a frightful fiend 
Doth close behind him tread. 


But soon there breathed a wind on me, 
Nor sound nor motion made : 

Its path was not upon the sea, 

In ripple or in shade. 


It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 

It mingled strangely with my fears, 

Yet it felt like a welcoming. 


Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 

Yet she sailed softly too: 

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 
On me alone it blew. 


And the 
ancient 
Mariner 
beholdeth his 
native country. 


Oh ! dream of joy ! is this indeed 
The light-house top i see ? 
is this the hill ? is this the kirk ? 
Is this mine own countree ? 


The harbour-bay was clear as glass, 
So smoothly it was strewn ! 

And on the bay the moonlight lay, 
And the shadow of the Moon. 


We drifted o’er the harbour-bar, 
And 1 with sobs did pray — 

O let me be awake, my God ! 
Or let me sleep alway. 


The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, 
That stands above the rock : 

The moonlight steeped in silentness 
The steady weathercock. 


And the bay was white with silent light, 
Till rising from the same, 

Full many shapes, that shadows were, 

In crimson colours came. 


The ang-elic 
spirits leave 
the dead 
bodies, 


45 


And appear 
in their own 
forms of light. 


A little distance from the prow 
Those crimson shadows were : 

1 turned my eyes upon the deck — 

Oh, Christ ! what saw I there ! 

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and fiat, 
And, by the holy rood ! 

A man all light, a seraph-man, 

On every corse there stood. 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand 
It was a heavenly sight ! 

They stood as signals to the land, 

Each one a lovely light; 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand, 
No voice did they impart — 

No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank 
Like music on my heart. 


But soon 1 heard the dash of oars, 
I heard the Pilot’s cheer ; 

My head was turned perforce away, 
And 1 saw a boat appear. 


The Pilot and the Pilot’s boy, 

I heard them coming fast : 

Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy 
The dead men could not blast. 


I saw a third — I heard his voice : 

It is the Hermit good ! 

He singeth loud his godly hymns 
That he makes in the wood. 

He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash away 
The Albatross’s blood. 


4fi 



“ This seraph-band , each waved his hand : 
It was a heavenly sight 1 11 


PART THE SEVENTH 


The Hermit of 
the wood, 


r T''HlS Hermit good lives in that wood 
* Which slopes down to the sea. 
How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 
He loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far countree. 


“Strange, by my faith!” the Hermit said — 
“ And they answered not our cheer ! 

The planks look warped ! and see those sails, 
How thin they are and sere ! 

1 never saw aught like to them, 

Unless perchance it were 


He kneels at morn, and noon and eve — 
He hath a cushion plump : 

It is the moss that wholly hides 
The rotted old oak-stump. 


The skiff-boat neared : 1 heard them talk, 
“Why this is strange, I trow! 

Where are those lights so many and fair, 
That signal made but now ? ” 


Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 
My forest-brook along, 

When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 
That eats the she-wolf’s young.” 

“Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look — 
(The Pilot made reply) 

1 am a-feared ” — “Push on, push on!” 
Said the Hermit cheerily. 


Approacheth 
the ship with 
wonder. 


48 



‘Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look’ — 
( The Pilot made reply').” 






The boat came closer to the ship, 

But 1 nor spake nor stirred ; 

The boat came close beneath the ship, 
And straight a sound was heard. 


Under the water it rumbled on, 

Still louder and more dread : 

It reached the ship, it split the bay ; 
The ship went down like lead. 


The ancient 
Mariner is 
saved in the 
Pilot’s boat. 


Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, 
Which sky and ocean smote, 

Like one that hath been seven days drowned 
My body lay afloat ; 

But swift as dreams, myself 1 found 
Within the Pilot’s boat. 


The ship 
suddenly 
sinketh. 


Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, 
The boat spun round and round , 

And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound. 


50 



“ Upon the whirl , where sank the ship , 


The boat spun round and round . 


n 






1 moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked 
And fell down in a fit; 

The holy Hermit raised his eyes, 

And prayed where he did sit. 


1 took the oars : the Pilot’s boy, 

Who now doth crazy go, 

Laughed loud and long, and all the while 
His eyes went to and fro. 

“Ha! ha!” quoth he, “full plain 1 see 
The Devil knows how to row.” 


And now, all in my own countree, 

1 stood on the firm land ! 

The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, 
And scarcely he could stand. 


“ Oh, shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man ! ” 
The Hermit crossed his brow. 

“Say quick,” quoth he, “1 bid thee say — 
What manner of man art thou ? ” 


The ancient 
Mariner 
earnestly 
entreateth the 
Hermit to 
shrieve him; 
and the 
penance of 
life falls on 
him. 


Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched 
With a woeful agony, 

Which forced me to begin my tale; 

And then it left me free. 


52 







“ K Say quick' quoth he , ‘/ hid thee say — 
IV hat manner of man art thou ? ' ” 








And ever 
and anon 
throughout his 
future life 
an agony 
constrainelh 
him to travel 
from land to 
land. 


Since then, at an uncertain hour, 
That agony returns : 

And till my ghastly tale is told, 
This heart within me burns. 


1 pass, like night, from land to land ; 
I have strange power of speech ; 

That moment that his face I see, 

1 know the man that must hear me : 
To him my tale 1 teach. 


What loud uproar bursts from that door 
The wedding-guests are there : 

But in the garden-bower the bride 


And bride-maids singing are : 
And hark the little vesper bell, 
Which biddeth me to prayer ! 


O Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been 
Alone on a wide, wide sea: 

So lonely ’twas, that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 


O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
’Tis sweeter far to me 
To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company ! — 


54 



“ But in the garden-bower the bride 
And bride-maids singing are.” 


To walk together to the kirk, 

And all together pray, 

While each to his great Father bends, 
Old men, and babes, and loving friends, 
And youths and maidens gay ! 


And to teach, Farewell, farewell ! but this 1 tell 

by his own 

example, love To thee, thou Wedding-Guest, 

and reverence * 

to aii things ' - He prayeth well, who loveth well 

that God made 

and loveth. Both man anc j bird and beast. 


He prayeth best, who loveth best 
All things both great and small ; 
For the dear God who loveth us, 
' Ffe-jnade and loveth all. 


The Mariner, whose eye is bright, 

Whose beard with age is hoar, 

Is gone : and now the Wedding-Guest 
Turned from the bridegroom’s door. 

He went like one that hath been stunned, 
And is of sense forlorn : 

A sadder and a wiser man, 

He rose the morrow morn. 


56 



“ IVhile each to his great Father bends, 

Old men, and babes, and loving friends.' ’ 















» 































































. 







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































